


Kingsman: The Kalokairi Affair

by aterriblesomething, Sunquistadora



Category: Kingsman (Movies), Mamma Mia! (Movies)
Genre: 100 percent crack (pod) fic through and through, I don't know what you were expecting, M/M, Podfic, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Length: 30-45 Minutes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-07-26 00:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aterriblesomething/pseuds/aterriblesomething, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunquistadora/pseuds/Sunquistadora
Summary: Eggsy travels to Kalokairi Island to investigate a strange set of circumstance. Dancing ensues.





	Kingsman: The Kalokairi Affair

[Streaming MP3 (right click to download)](http://sunquistadora.parakaproductions.com/TheKalokairiAffair.mp3)

Duration: 43:34 | Thanks to Paraka for hosting and to the Pod Together mods for all their work! 

**Author & Cover Art:** aterriblesomething | **Reader:** sunquistadora 

A note before we begin: this story has some sick fetish stuff like kissing and hand holding. Don’t like, don’t read. Also content warning a lot of people get shot or stabbed or blown up.

More importantly, this story presupposes that the events of the first Kingsman movie happened before the events of the first Mamma Mia movie. It also presupposes that Kingsman 2, and whatever events that may entail, are entirely non-canon, and will not happen. It also kind of veers off at the end because I never finished the second half of Mamma Mia. 

Regardless, a similar principle applies to the events of Mamma Mia 2, on account that Mamma Mia 2 is not—and has never been—real. It cannot hurt you.

KINGSMAN: THE KALOKAIRI AFFAIR

The silhouette stood, staring down, at the water lapping endlessly along the shore of Kalokairi Island. The last edge of sun fell away, and they watched with withering contempt as stars faded into the night sky and the moon rose to join them.

Some might call this place a Mediterranean paradise, but for them it was only a prison. Not for much longer. Their sentence here was nearly at an end. 

Someone had entered the room behind them. “Hyacinth,” they said. “Any word?”

“Sophie has sent the three letters.”

“Then we’re nearly there.”

“I just want to know. Are you sure about it? Are you certain about… all of this?”

“Why do you ask?”

Hyacinth looked away. “Because it’s over. I’m stopping everything. I’m asking you to cooperate.”

“I think you’ll find you’re far too late to stop anything at all.”

“Not so fast.” Hyacinth hefted a briefcase. “I have the masters.”

The shadowy figure stood still, impassive.

Hyacintha continued. “You know, in the beginning, I thought we were going to do something great together. I really respected you, your ambition and cunning, and the range and general poise you demonstrated in Spike Jonez and Charlie Kaufman’s Adaptation. I thought we were doing something bigger. I thought we were going to change the world.

“But it doesn’t matter anymore. Your schemes are through. I’m leaving and I’m taking these with me.”

The figure stepped forward. “I should have known better than to trust a fool like you.”

Hyacintha stared back icily. Her free hand surreptitiously drew a knife from a concealed pocket. “I should have killed you the first day I met you.”

The silhouette placed a hand upon the desk. “Now’s your chance.”

Hyacintha threw the blade expertly, but the silhouette dodged with a carefully executed box step and the blade lodged, quivering, in the side of the rolltop. The silhouette dropped, and came up on the other side of the desk with a shotgun.

Hyacintha watched, as though itself time had slowed, as the two great empty barrels come to bear upon her, and her hands reflexively clutched the briefcase to her chest.

The shotgun fired. Hyacintha fell backward, and landed on the floor. A handful of small bloody holes dotted her arm and shoulder, but she was otherwise uninjured, only dazed. The briefcase, however, and its precious cargo, was shreds and tatters. 

She looked up at the shadow, her eyes full of hate. “You’ve just destroyed the crown jewel of musical history! The original ABBA masters!”

“I don’t need them anymore.”

They dropped the shotgun on the floor. “Like I don’t need this.” 

They pulled the knife from the rolltop. It resisted for a moment before sliding out of the elegant molding. The blade glinted in the moonlight. 

“Like I don’t need you.” 

\+ + + + + + + + + + + +

ONE WEEK LATER : TWO MILES ABOVE THE COAST OF KAKOKAIRI

Eggsy sat in an elegant chair in an elegant room, clothed head to toe in a black diving suit. He had a sip of tea, and took to double-checking his equipment. 

Mark Strong’s character’s voice came through on the comms. “How are we feeling today, Eggsy?”

“Absolutely wonderful, Mark Strong’s character. Shall we go over the particulars?

“Indeed we shall, Eggsy. Today, three men arrive on a remote island in the Mediterranean sea, ostensibly for the wedding of a local hotelier’s daughter. That’s, hm, Donna Sheridan and Sophie, respectively. Our intelligence suggests that one of these men is the possible father: Sam Carmichael, Bill Anderson, or Harold Bright.”

“What does it matter who’s the father?” asked Eggsy.

“Strange financials have been going on ever since we foiled Valentine’s plans those months back. You remember. When Harry...” Eggsy’s heart briefly seized. “Anyhow. The man who is the father has been funneling money into the island for purposes unknown. But it’s the sources that’s troubling. Untold amounts of black market dollars are laundered through shell corporations… and their final destination? Kalakiri Island.”

“Money, money, money,” said Eggsy. “For what?”

“Indeed, Eggsy. The point is this: there’s only one way to find out. The man who is the father is the one you need. Track him down, and find out why. Are you ready to jump?”

“Naturally,” he said, stepping into his diving suit. He took his position near the door.

“Now, I know you’ve done some rather extreme parachuting maneuvers, but I have to warn you, Eggsy, a HALO jump is no joke. “

The door slid open. He jumped from the plane with a practiced nonchalance, and hurtled down toward the open ocean. 

“If you hit the water even a centimeter off angle you’ll be dead or worse.”

Eggsy smirked as he plummeted toward the ground. “Nothing could be easier, Mark Strong’s character.” He tugged the release. “No call for alar—”

The parachute snagged immediately. The deployment window was ten feet below him, then twenty feet above as he yanked at the release, which was tangled in his comms equipment. Another twenty feet gone. The water was looking awfully close. Oh shit, said Eggsy, his words swallowed up in the wind. 

He could see froth on the waves. He could see the rocks on the shore where his body was going to wash up.

The parachute blew open, and he felt the harness dragging at him. Could see bubbles in the waves, now. Well, Eggsy thought. At least we’re below terminal velocity. 

Better than nothing. 

He hit the water. 

Eggsy’s body plunged, down, into the deep. It ran out of momentum after some thirty feet, and floated, insensate. 

Mark Strong’s character tapped the comms. There was no response. “Eggsy? Eggsy?”

\+ + + + + + + + + + + +

In the offices of INTERPOL… a telephone… is ringing…

\+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Eggsy felt a pain down his body like a thousand spanks. He gritted his teeth, and adjusted the respirator in his mouth, and carefully tested his body against the water. The impact hadn’t left anything more substantial than bruises along his back, but he had lost the majority of his equipment, including his gun. 

A hull passed overhead, and Eggsy drew to the surface. The ship was called The Fernando, and he watched as the sailboat docked and its three passengers disembarked. Two of the men were explaining their character traits to each other. Eggsy identified one of them immediately as Sam Carmichael. 

“I’m an architect, and I’m kind and approachable, but I’m also rich,” he said. He leaned back and laughed loudly. “Rich, rich, rich!”

The other man grinned knowingly. “Good money in the architecture business, but how rich can you really be if you don’t own a boat?”

“Why, I own several, Bill.”

“Ah, yes, but I own this boat. This is my boat.”

Sam gently touched his arm. “You’ve told me, Bill.”

“I named it Fernando because of an ABBA song, probably.”

A troubled look passed over Sam’s face. “…ABBA, you say?” He scratched delicately behind his ear. 

“I have eyes on the targets,” whispered Eggsy. The earpiece gave back only a brief snarl of static before dying completely. “I guess that’s done for. I’ll have to press on alone.” He swam in closer, and held position just beside the dock, watching as a third man stepped from the sailboat.

“Could never own a boat myself, significantly and exceedingly wealthy though I am,” said a familiar voice. “Could never convince myself. I’m not sure I’ve mentioned it but I’m… well I’m not particularly spontaneous.”

It was like the voice of a ghost. Eggsy held fast to the dock post. His mind reeled.

Sam Carmichael laid a hand on the third man’s shoulder. “You have mentioned it. We’ve spent the whole boat ride talking about ourselves to each other.”

“It’s my boat,” said Bill.

“Well, even so, the name’s Bright. Harry Bright.”

Harry? thought Eggsy. That name in that voice. It—it couldn’t be. It can’t. 

“Harry, Bill…” said Sam, exasperated. “I know.”

Another voice called from across the water. Sophie had arrived to meet her three prospective fathers, and was walking now where Eggsy would be in plain sight. 

He ducked into the shadows beneath the dock, and reminded himself to breath. He dared not look again, could not believe the facts his eyes reported. 

It should be impossible. He’d seen him die. And yet… Could it be? 

Was Harry Hart still alive? 

\+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Eggsy had stripped off the diving suit, and was blending in with the locals with his impeccable, tailored suit. He headed into the village, toward the market, just adjacent the Hotel Bella Donna. The three men were near here somewhere. 

Without Mark Strong’s character to talk to, Eggsy felt terribly vulnerable. They had both seen Harry die, shot by Valentine back in the first movie. They had both grieved for their friend, colleague, mentor, and possible love interest, the good man that the machinations of evil men had taken from them. 

Eggsy wiped away a tear, and a stranger brushed past him, moving toward the market. On the back of her neck he saw a small raised rectangle, and a brief whorl of surgical scarring. He spied the edge of her face and recognized her at once from her catalogue of potent, sincere acting in films throughout the years. It was Donna Sheridan, hotelier, owner of the Hotel Bella Donna.

Eggsy tried to close the distance, but all at once they were in the market. The locals were hocking their freshly caught fish, chatting amongst themselves and arguing doggedly over prices. Children ran about beneath the blue sky, around the market fountain and in amongst the stalls. Eggsy was cut off by a merchant hefting a huge, fish with a mouth full of teeth, and Eggsy recoiled. Ahead, Donna passed between some merchants and disappeared among the throng. Eggsy cursed.

From a window in the Hotel Bella Donna came a beat, a tight four on the floor bass drum thumping along beneath disco strings. 

Everyone in the market twitched. Their heads dropped as one, as though suddenly drowsy, and everything stopped. The only sound was an irresistible melody of world class Swedish pop.

Eggsy turned. The whole crowd stood unmoving, stalls abandoned, wares forgotten, comically ugly tooth-filled fish discarded at their feet. They were instead staring up towards the potent rhythm, listening. The music was getting louder. The track was catchy, and Eggsy couldn’t help but tap his foot. There were voices now, singing with a wild, wine-fueled abandon. The crowd below still stood, utterly still. 

No, Eggsy realized. Not entirely. They were each tapping their foot, in perfect time. Like me, he thought, with horror. 

A handful of people broke off like birds and flocked into the hotel, ready for their part in what could only be a musical number unfolding. The rest of the crowd, some seventy-strong, turned toward Eggsy. They began to dance towards him. 

“Oh no,” he said. In the back of his head he could feel something pulsing, roaring. He stepped backward. Urging him to dance. Begging him to dance. He screwed shut his eyes and felt a wave of pain pass through him as the chorus started up. 

The crowd was moving in a slow shuffle to the left and right, and ever forward. They were snapping their fingers on the down beat. His head ached in time. There was no way out. He was cornered.

Snap. Snap. 

“Egg.”

Snap. Snap. They drew ever closer. 

“Egg!”

There was a tug at his sleeve, and Eggsy turned, shocked to see a short old man standing beside him. There was a desperate look on his wrinkled face, along with a great network of rough white scars that ran up and around his throat, behind his ear, and into his cheek. He tugged once more and gestured behind him, where a now open passage stood. 

The crowd was now truly upon them. They box-stepped forward, first left, than right. 

Snap. Snap. 

Jazz hands. 

The old man shoved the wall shut behind them. 

“What the hell was that?”

The old man looked at Eggsy carefully, then walked wordlessly ahead in into the pitch black. 

A brief thrill of fear ran through Eggsy, and a burst of light came through the darkness. The old men held a torch aloft, and took off into caves beneath Kopogigio. Eggsy followed, feeling more lost than ever. 

\+ + + + + + + + + + + +

To his surprise, the cave emerged to a neat little room, carved from the rock. There was a military-style radio on a rough-hewn table. “Is this what you wanted to show me?” he said to the old man.

“Egg,” said the old man. He sat down and leant his back against the wall. 

Eggsy busied himself with the radio. “Come in Mark Strong’s character. Mark Strong’s character?

There was a burst of static, and then, a voice.

“Eggsy! It’s good to hear your voice.”

“I feel just the same, Mark Strong’s character. Some very strange things are happening on this island.”

“So it would seem. The situation’s changed drastically, Eggsy. INTERPOL is on the case. They’re sending in their best, a Chief Inspector Fortinbras. You should expect his arrival imminently. Do your best to stay under cover until then.”

“Fortinbras? Of the late Fortinbras?”

“The first Chief Inspector Fortinbras, yes. This is his son. His reputation for detection is unparalleled, and his career is being carefully watched by men of esteem.”

“Well,” said Eggsy, “even he might prove too little. Something truly sinsister is at work here on something at work here on Katocalin Island. Something truly sinister. But that’s not important right now. 

“Mark Strong’s character,” said Eggsy. “I think Harry’s alive.”

“Eggsy, that’s—”

“Impossible? That’s what I thought. But I heard his voice. I nearly saw him. I think it’s him.”

“We both saw what happened. He was shot—”

“Wait,” said Eggsy. The radio fell silent. 

There was a noise, echoing through the cave. Eggsy turned to look. The old man had left. There was no one to be seen. 

Another sound. Something was moving amongst the dark passages. Eggsy approached and then heard his mistake. Behind him, a pistol glinted, and a voice issued from the shadows. “Hand’s up.”

Eggsy reluctantly raised his hands above his head.

“Click,” said the voice. He felt the gun barrel touch the back of his head. “Bang. You’re dead.”

“Eggsy!” shouted Mark strong’s character. “Eggsy!”

“I thought they trained you Kingsmen to be the best. At INTERPOL, we’d never make such a rookie mistake. 

Eggsy sighed, and dropped his hands. “Chief Inspector Fortinbras, I presume?”

“Ha! No, but I put in the call. The name’s Sky. I’m deep cover INTERPOL, been working my way in for years now. Here on Karolingian Island, they think of me as just another member of the family.” Sky holstered his pistol with a click. “Oh, hey, congratulate me. Today’s my wedding.”

“I’m sorry,” said Eggsy. “But would you mind letting me in on just what the hell is going on here?”

“You came here tracking the money, right?”

“Sam Carmichael. And the others.”

“Yes. Bright is an enigma, but his money’s real. I don’t believe Bill is actually involved, beyond basic boat ownership. Sam, however… he launders black market cash through his architecture firm, funneling them into various criminal enterprises. A lot of his side projects go unnoticed. He likes investing, you see, but he’s often not particularly concerned about the results.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Mark Strong’s character through the radio. “Side projects?”

“Sam Carmichael doesn’t realize he’s walking into a trap. She’s played them all, and using her own daughter. She’s going to ensnare them, and if you’re not careful she’s going to ensnare you. 

“Who?”

“Donna Sheridan.”

“The hotelier??”

“The hotelier?” He snorted. “She owns the hotel, she owns the town, she owns the whole damned island! Even the people.” 

“How?”

“I don’t where she got it, but she’s using some kind of device to control them,” Sky said. “It… compels. In the beginning it only worked because of ABBA: the mellow tones of Swedish disco pop resonate so closely with the human mind, you understand.

“The device used to require the ABBA masters—the strength of high-powered disco anthems was almost enough, but purity was a factor. 

“But Donna’s been busy. The technology is still nascent, but even at this stage… it’s something beyond what anyone could have imagined.

“Suggestion beyond persuasion. Genuine Mind Control technology.”

“Thanks to ABBA.”

“Exactly, Eggsy.”

“Is there any way to stop it?”

“No. Well, maybe. There’s something I heard, that you could try to run a counter signal. You’d need something potent, though, something about the caliber of ABBA.”

“So essentially impossible, then.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“I’m waiting for backup. You should too.”

“I agree, Eggsy,” said Mark Strong’s character through the radio. “You’d better sit tight and wait for the cavalry.”

Eggsy frowned, looked at the ground. He could stay here, he knew. But if there was even a chance, a single shred of hope that Harry was alive…

The old man reappeared in the mouth of a tunnel. “Egg,” he said, waiting expectantly.

“What’s with him,” asked Eggsy. “What’s with the scars?”

“I really don’t know, but if I had to guess, I’d say he had a rough time trying to cut out his control chip.” 

“Control chip?”

“Surely you’ve seen them. On the neck beneath the ear. Those things are a double edged sword. They can make you immune to the device, or they can make you twice as susceptible. It all depends on who’s at the switch—and what track is playing. Without the chip you can fight it, but not forever.”

“We’ll need to stop her then. Kill her if necessary. Round up the whole lot before this gets any further out of hand.”

“Egg.” The old man narrowed his eyes. He gestured with his head to the tunnel. 

“Time to go.”

“Good luck, Kingsman.”

\+ + + + + + + + + + + +

The passage wound here and there, and opened up to another secret door, which deposited the old man and Eggsy at the end of an alley. They walked toward the mouth, when both heard the excited sounds, footsteps coming fast. The two of them pressed against the wall as Sophie lead the three prospective fathers down a sidestreet and into the goat house behind the Hotel Bella Donna. 

“Harry!” Eggsy couldn’t help himself. 

Harry Bright paused to regard the voice. “Hello?”

“Harry it’s me, Eggsy!”

Harry stepped backward, almost recoiling. “My word, I’ve never met you before in my life and besides I—” he gasped. Donna was turning the corner onto the street. He picked himself and ran, ducking into the old goat house with the others.

“It really isn’t him,” said Eggsy. “I just thought…” He turned to look toward the old man, but the alley was empty. The old man was gone. 

Just then, two figures appeared at the end of the alley. Eggsy frowned. Betrayed. 

“I don’t know who you are, exactly,” said the tall woman. 

“But we know you don’t belong here,” said the short one. She menancingly brandished a cookbook, and looked like she knew how to use it. “We’re not going to let him interfere, are we, Tanya?”

“Get her Rosie,” said Tanya. Rosie rushed in and smashed Eggsy across the face with the hardbound edition. Eggsy kicked, but Tanya struck him with her purse. He dropped onto his back. The two of them stood above his prone body. 

“Look at this, Rose. This is exactly why I got divorced,” said Tanya, pulling a gun from her purse. It was plated in gold and silver, and glinted in the sun. “The freedom to really splurge, you know?”

“If you can’t do something with style, why do it at all?” She pointed the gun to Eggsy’s forehead. “Know what I mean?”

But the gun jerked up, and misfired, a complete miss. Eggsy rolled, and picked himself off the ground, still shaking off the impact of The Full Woman: The Cookbook.

Harry Bright… no, Harry Hart was standing there, strangling the life out of Tanya with a length of cord. Eggsy felt his heart beating in his chest. 

“Harry?”

Rosie rushed up from behind, cookbook aloft, but Eggsy ran and slid, blocking her strike. Harry dropped the improvised garrote and threw his elbow behind him, connecting with Rosie’s chin. There was the sickening crunch of a snapped spine. 

“Rather close one, don’t you think, Eggsy?”

Eggsy rushed toward him. He wrapped his arms around Harry and leant his head on his shoulder. 

“Harry,” wept Eggsy. “You’re alive!”

“Sorry about a minute and a half ago,” said Harry. “I had to protect my cover.”

\+ + + + + + + + + + + +

They removed to the old goat house, now empty.

“We thought you were dead,” said Eggsy, his eyes watering.

“Well, I wasn’t,” said Harry.

“But we saw! Valentine shot you!”

“It was close, but I survived. And I used the opportunity to work in the background, and besides. I knew I had people I could count on to keep things under control during my absence.”

Eggsy smiled through the tears. 

“I followed the lead here, just as you and Mark Strong’s character did. But mine was a rumor: a piece of metal that fell from the sky in the Mediterranean Sea, a few months ago. One of Valentines satellites. A blackbox was recovered, and Donna Sheridan got to work, using Sam Carmichael’s resources. The project has barely started, but it makes Valentines original rage trigger technology look like hot wet garbage. 

“I don’t know if she plans to sell it or to use it herself, 

“She’s already using it,” said Eggsy, thinking of his encounter in the market.

“All the more reason we need to stop her. We need to make sure this technology never falls into the wrong hands. Again.

“She’s controlling this island, Eggsy, playing those… insidiously catchy Swedish dance pop hits… They’re all dancing to her tune out there, Eggsy,” Harry said. “I think it’s time we cut in.”

\+ + + + + + + + + + + +

The wedding procession had begun. Hundreds had come out from the village to join Sky and Sophie and their friends as they made their way out of the village to the beach, where the ceremony was set to take place. Donna Sheridan and Sam Carmichael strode just behind the soon-to-be-married, just ahead of the great throng of excited supporters and fervently dancing villagers. 

Harry and Eggsy burst from the alley. They levelled their guns at Donna and Sam. 

“I’m afraid the weddings cancelled,” said Eggsy.

“Something’s come up. You’re all under arrest.”

“Hm, perhaps you’re right,” said Donna, ignoring them, opening her clutch. “Weddings are sort of a superficial institution, aren’t they? Don’t you agree Sophie?” She pulled a gun from the clutch. “Isn’t that right, Sky?”

“Mom!” cried Sophie, as Donna pointed the gun at Sky.

“How long have you known, Sophie? Did you figure it out?”

“Known what, Mom?”

“You let a snake into our house, Sophie. I know you love him, but that doesn’t matter anymore. I’m going to show you what we do to snakes out here on Kakokairi.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Donna,” said Sky.

“Don’t play dumb, Sky. Don’t cheapen this.” She snapped her fingers. The music came on, loud and insistent. Eggsy felt that wave of headache pass through him, felt the compulsion trying so desperately to overwhelm him. 

The wedding party’s heads drooped. The strings came in. 

Friday night and the lights are low.  
Looking out for a place to go  
Where they play the right music  
Getting in the swing.  
You come to look for a king…

The crowd converged on Sky, dancing wildly. Sophie fell back, horrified. Donna stepped back into the crowd, using them as cover. 

And when you get the chance…

“We’re going to lose her, Harry!” shouted Eggsy. 

You are the dancing queen!  
Young and sweet,  
Only seventeen!

The villagers two-stepped in close. Sky was overwhelmed. His body disappeared into the crowd like a branch into a thresher. Sophie cried out in horror.

Dancing queen  
Feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah

“You’ll be happier single, darling,” said Donna. I know I am.”

Sophie shouted above the blasting disco anthem. “This is insane, mother. You’ve lost your mind! I don’t care how candid or illuminating your performances are! You need to stop!”

You can dance,  
You can jive…

“Eggsy!” shouted Harry. “We have to do something!”

Having the time of your liiiiife.

Eggsy concentrated. A counter signal, Sky had said. He focused with all his might. It hit him like a bolt of lightning. My. Fair. Lady. 

“Stop!” he shouted. The dancing stopped. The music halted. 

Donna looked on, confused. “What are you doing?”

Eggsy shouted, half-sang:

There's just a few more hours.  
That's all the time you've got.

“What?” said Sophie.

A few more hours  
Before they tie the knot.

“Oh no,” said Donna.

Harry smiled. He knew he’d chosen his protégé well.

There are drinks and girls all over London, and I've  
gotta track 'em down in just a few more hours!

Everyone was were staring at Eggsy, watching his every move as he box stepped and sashayed. 

I'm getting married in the morning!  
Ding dong! The bells are gonna chime.

The crowd began to move. They lifted their arms, and began to dance along with Eggsy, their voices joining suddenly in a growing chorus. 

Drug me or jail me,  
Stamp me and mail me…

But get me to the church on time!

The villagers moved, still dancing and too literally, out toward the beach that was to serve as the marriage’s church. They’d be back later, dazed and confused, but Eggsy had momentarily broken Donna’s spell over them. 

The departing crowd revealed Sky’s maimed body on the pavement. His clothes were torn, and stained with blood. He was still alive, but only just. Sophie ran to his side to help him up. 

“It’s just us now,” said Harry. He pointed his gun at Donna. “Like your appearance in Stuck On You, you have delighted us with your unexpected but always welcome presence. But that’s all I’m afraid. Your schemes are at an end. You are under arrest.

“I was so close,” Donna. “Trapped here all these years, just to protect the reputation of this spoiled creature Sam Carmichael. I should have killed you all… all of you! When I had the chance!”

“I really do resent being called a creature,” said Sam.

“Stop it, both of you,” said Harry. Donna and Sam stood, impassive. Sophie stood near Sam, holding Sky’s battered body up. Bill cowered in the corner. For a moment it seemed as though they were really going to surrender, and today’s adventures would end in a simple arrest.

Sam threw a handful of money into Harry’s eyes. He grabbed Sophie, produced a gun from his jacket, and held it near her chin. “Not so fast,” he said.

“You’d hold your own daughter hostage?”

“We don’t know for sure she’s—

“Oh come on, it’s obviously you. It couldn’t be me,” said Harry, keeping his gun level. “I’m inhabiting an assumed identity.”

“I…” said Bill, pensive. “Own a boat.” 

Even Donna was nodding.

Sam shook his head. “The movie never technically—”

“It’s heavily implied!” shouted Eggsy

“Yes, but—”

“Heavily! Implied!” 

“You never have these kinds of problems on a boat,” said Bill. 

But just then, from an alley, the old man appeared, clutching something in his hand. He rushed headlong for Donna. 

“What’s that he’s got?” said Harry.

“A knife!” shouted Eggsy. 

The old man leapt with unnatural poise. “For Hyacintha,” he croaked, with a destroyed voice. He ran the blade across Donna Sheridan’s throat. Blood poured from the wound, and she fell to her knees.

“Donna!” shouted Sam, turning his gun on the old man. He fired wildly, and the old man fell to the ground. Harry took advantage of the distraction, and dispatched Sam with a single perfect shot. Blood spattered, and Sam dropped.

“Old man!” shouted Eggsy. 

“Egg,” said the old man. His eyes closed, and he was no more. 

Police sirens could be heard in the distance, coming in across the waves.

Three bodies lay on the floor between them. No. Two. Donna was still alive, one hand clasped across the gaping wound in her neck. She dragged herself along the floor toward Harry.

“For all the pain and misery you’ve caused, it’s almost a shame you can’t be asked to suffer more.” Harry pointed his gun.

Donna stared up into the barrel, and then into Harry’s eyes. She spat a mouthful of blood onto the pavement. 

At just that moment, a door burst open, and into the square walked Chief Inspector Fortinbras, striding with a dancer’s grace. He stepped over Bill and held out his sidearm. 

“I am Chief Inspector Fortinbras,” he said. “And, Donna Sheridan, I am here to put an end to—” and here he had looked down, and saw the carnage laid out before him. He gasped very loudly. 

Eggsy put up his hands. “We didn’t kill most of these people.”

“We’re spies, Eggsy” said Harry Hart, discharging a round. “We’re allowed to do this.”

“Oh,” said Chief Inspector Fortinbras. “Such a shame. She was so good in Devil Wears Prada.”

Deep down, beneath the Hotel Bella Donna, a small device beeped. It was a receiver, and what it was designed to receive was a signal, a signal which was sent when the monitor attached to Donna Sheridan’s heart reported a flatline. It was attached to a very large amount of quite powerful explosives.

A klaxon sounded.

“I think that’s our cue to exit,” said Eggsy

“No curtain calls?” joked Harry.

“Just one!” Sophie shouted. She dragged a bleeding Sky up next to her. “I’ve rethought the whole idea of marriage during my own off-page subplots and… well, for me and Sky, I don’t think we have to get married! I think we have time to grow and love each other without some… red tape hanging over us!

“I agree,” said Sky, blood dripping from his cut and bruised face. “I know we can make this work. Even though you are the heiress to a sinister criminal enterprise and I’m just an embedded deep cover INTERPOL anti-criminal task force agent here to bring justice to your lawless family.”

“What?” said Sophie. 

“We really must be going,” said Harry.

“Agreed,” said Eggsy.

\+ + + + + + + + + + + +

The sun was setting, disappearing by inches into the sea. Bill stood behind the wheel of his ship Fernando, as Eggsy and Harry sat near the fore. They watched as boats streamed from Kakariko Island; citizens evacuating, a no-doubt horrifying ordeal that, from a distance looked small, and quiet, and peaceful. 

Harry, stared contently out at the sunset. Eggsy, exhausted, lay sprawled against his leg. 

Harry looked down at Eggsy, wistful. He gently intoned:

Someone's head restin' on my knee  
Warm and tender as he can be  
Who takes good care of me  
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?

“Why, Harry Hart,” said Eggsy. “You know the words.”

“You shouldn’t look so surprised. A more than passing familiarity with musical theater is every gentleman’s responsibility.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Eggsy. “I’m just glad.” He moved, and sat himself next to Harry, inclined towards him. He entwined his hand with his, and without a word, Harry leant in, and they kissed.

KRAKOOM. Kalokairi exploded behind them, issuing great gouts of streaming flame and burning debris. The island, what remained of it, looked to be ablaze for some time coming.

Eggsy stared back at the flaming island. “But… what about Mamma Mia 2?”

“Oh, honey. Honey.” Harry gently brushed a lock of hair from Eggsy’s forehead. “There is no Mamma Mia 2.”

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Reader's note: bonus points if you find where my cat burst into the room


End file.
